A smiled tugged at her lips, but dark circles still bruised her eyes and the frown hadn’t left her face since she walked through the door. He’d have to fix that.
Placing her hand lightly on Ben’s arm, she kissed his cheek. “Good to see you, Ben. Auntie Mary is really looking forward to the opening.”
“She’ll be one of my guests of honor. I hope we have a lot to celebrate by then.” His gaze darted toward Rafe before he spun around and returned to his own table.
Dana hung her coat on the hook next to Rafe’s hat and jacket and sank into the chair he’d pulled out for her. “What was that about?”
Rafe lifted his shoulders. He hadn’t wanted to talk business, but it had already taken a seat at the table. “He was just implying we weren’t working as hard as we could to catch this killer because he was targeting Native American women.”
Her jaw dropped and she smacked the table. “That’s B.S. Ben should know better. You practically lived at Auntie Mary’s on the reservation our senior year in high school. Even though you were one of the high-and-mighty McClintocks, you treated everyone the same.”
He spit a mouthful of water back in his glass. “The McClintocks were high-and-mighty? We were a mess.”
“You know what I mean.” She shoved her untouched glass of water toward him. “You were one of the four big ranching families along with the Pierces, the Scotts and…the Prices.”
“Those families weren’t all that high and mighty either, except maybe the Pierces. Ennis Price was eccentric and his son was a loser, and as I recall you and Tori Scott were pretty good friends. She never considered herself all that.”
She smiled. “Yeah, well Tori was…Tori.”
“She was a hell-raiser.” Rafe waved the waitress over and ordered two margaritas. “The two of you couldn’t have been more different.”
By the time the margaritas arrived and Dana had taken her first sip, the vertical lines between her brows had smoothed out and her eyes had lost that hollow look.
Her long dark lashes lay on her cheeks as her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth to dislodge a grain of salt. “Mmm, this is good.”
“Tell me about your life in Denver. You’re not that far from Silverhill. How come you don’t come back more often?”
“I’m busy.” She swirled the pale yellow liquid in her glass and it sloshed over the rim. “My job is demanding. I ping-pong between Denver, D.C. and whatever Indian reservation the Bureau sends me to.”
“Is that why you aren’t married?” He traced a finger through the beaded moisture on the outside of his glass.
She took another swig of her drink. “Come on, I’m not even considered an old maid yet. There’s plenty of time for all that.”
“By all that, do you mean kids?”
“Hey, speaking of kids, I heard your brother Ryder has a little girl.”
“Shelby, after our grandmother. She sure is cute. I never thought I’d be interested in having children, but a couple of hours with Shelby and I start thinking crazy thoughts.”
“Are you ready to order?” Dana twisted her head to the side, looking for their waitress.
After an hour of conversation, spicy food and another round of margaritas, the knots in Rafe’s neck had loosened. He and Dana had slipped back in time when the talk was easy and laughter bubbled around the edges. After those tense moments when he’d been stupid enough to mention marriage and children, Dana had relaxed and he took the opportunity to make her smile. He’d always been good at that.
Someone slapped Rafe on the back and he jumped.
“I knew it wouldn’t be long before I found you two together.” Joshua Trujillo showed a row of white teeth behind a phony smile.
Rafe shook Joshua’s outstretched hand. “Hey, Joshua. How are your clubs doing?”
“Making money.” He pulled up a chair to their table and straddled it. “I have to admit one club is doing better than the other.”
Dana grimaced. “Let me guess. The topless one?”
“Bingo.” Joshua made a gun with his fingers and pointed it at Dana.
Rafe rolled his eyes as he smirked at Dana. What did she ever see in this guy? Joshua had tried to bring gambling to the reservation, but the Southern Ute Council shot him down. Rafe approved of the decision. He didn’t need that kind of trouble in Silverhill.
Dana batted his finger away. “Did Jacey Holloway ever frequent your clubs?”
Rafe raised his brows at the question. Dana obviously didn’t see anything she liked in Joshua now. He and Emmett had questioned Joshua about his interview of Lindy for a job as a topless waitress at his club, but nothing came of that interview. Just another woman with low self-esteem looking to make a little money with her body, and just another businessman looking to exploit the situation.
“A few times.” Joshua’s Cheshire cat smile evaporated as he slid out of the chair and pushed it back under the table next to them. “All the victims showed up at my clubs, except for Alicia Clifton. That doesn’t mean I killed them.”
Dana tipped her head back to look at Joshua’s flushed face. “So did Lindy take the job or not? ’Cause if she didn’t, maybe that pissed you off.”
Joshua backed away from the table. “I just came over to say hi, not to get interrogated. What happened to you, Dana? You used to be a fun girl in high school. Didn’t she, Rafe?”
Joshua winked at Rafe before turning on his heel and sidling up to the bar.
“Yuck.” Dana waved her hands in front of her face as if trying to disperse a noxious odor. “What happened to him? He’s a creep.”
Rafe lifted a shoulder as he pulled out some cash to pay the bill. “He started managing clubs and then opened his own. His position gave him access to a lot of women, and he liked the attention. Especially since he never got over the one who got away.”
“Me?” Dana’s voice squeaked as she pointed to herself.
“Every time I see him around, he brings it up—how I stole you from him in high school. He’s joking, but there’s something in his eyes…”
Dana shoved back her chair. “I thought we were just friends. Just goes to show you people aren’t always what they seem.”
“You got that right.” As Rafe handed Dana her coat and grabbed his hat, trying to figure out a way to get Dana back to his guesthouse at the ranch, his cell phone buzzed in his shirt pocket.
“McClintock.”
“Sheriff, this is Dr. Simpson. Sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I need to talk to you as soon as possible.”
“We’re just finishing up. Why don’t you meet us here at La Paz?”
“I—I need to talk to you in private. I’m parked outside the McClintock ranch. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Is it the autopsy? Did you find something?”
“Meet me at the ranch.”
Rafe slid his phone shut and raised his brows at Dana. “We might have a break here. Simpson’s at the ranch.”
“What are we waiting for?” Dana shrugged into her coat and beat Rafe to the door.
They discussed the possibilities of Dr. Simpson’s findings on the way to the ranch, exhausting all the scenarios by the time they pulled up to the wide gate at the foot of the property.
Rafe waved to Simpson, and then hopped out of the car to swing open the gates. Simpson followed him down the side road that led to the guesthouse.
Rafe got out of his car and Simpson did the same, and then stopped in his tracks when he saw Dana.
“What’s she doing here?” The finger Simpson pointed at Dana trembled.
“This is Agent Dana Croft. You met her this afternoon at the funeral home.” Rafe reached out and pulled Dana to his side. Had doing the autopsies on local women finally gotten to Dr. Simpson? The man seemed unhinged.
Simpson snapped, “I know who she is. I asked to see you in private.”
“We’re investigating a serial killer, Dr. Simpson, and the FBI is involved. Anything you say to me, you can say to Agent Croft.”
<
br /> “All right, all right.” Simpson’s shoulders slumped and he shuffled toward Rafe’s front porch.
Rafe exchanged a worried glance with Dana, and then bounded ahead of Simpson to unlock the door. He had left a lamp on, but flipped on the switch to the kitchen light. “Can I get you something? A drink?”
“Whiskey if you have it.”
Rafe set up three short glasses on the counter that separated the small kitchen from the living room and took a bottle down from the cupboard. He splashed a couple of fingers of amber liquid in each glass and opened the fridge to look for something to mix with the whiskey.
“I’ll take mine straight.” Dr. Simpson held out a shaky hand for his drink and Rafe handed it to him. Simpson threw back the whiskey in one gulp and Rafe shoved another glass toward him. Simpson downed that one, too, and ran his palms along the sides of his wild hair, smoothing it into place.
“What did you find, Doc?” Rafe leaned his elbows on the counter and hunched forward.
“The Cliftons are my friends.” Simpson removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I watched Alicia grow up. When she was murdered, I had already performed the autopsy on the first young woman. I knew it would be hard to do Alicia’s autopsy, but I felt I was the man for the job and I wanted to help find her killer.”
Dana joined Rafe in the kitchen and pressed up next to him, gripping the edge of the counter.
Simpson continued. “After I performed Alicia’s autopsy, I went to my good friends first to tell them what I had found. I didn’t want them learning the news any other way. What I told them broke their hearts.”
Rafe slid his fingers along the counter and laid his hand over Dana’s. “What did you find?”
“They begged me to keep it a secret. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t refuse them. I was Jack Clifton’s best man, for God’s sake.” Dr. Simpson wiped his eyes and Rafe ripped off a piece of paper towel from the roll and shoved it toward him.
Dr. Simpson blew his nose. “But then two other girls were murdered. I’ve studied pathology. I know how important every piece of evidence is in trying to link murders of this sort. When I saw you two at the funeral home today, I thought maybe you’d discovered my cover-up. Then it didn’t matter whether or not you’d discovered it. I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. Not after Jacey’s murder. I swear that girl on the slab today pleaded with me to reveal the truth and find justice for her and Alicia.”
Rafe held his breath while Dana whispered, “What truth, Dr. Simpson? What did you discover during Alicia’s autopsy?”
Simpson balled the paper towel in his fist and replaced his glasses.
“Alicia Clifton was pregnant.”
Dana sagged against him, and Rafe hooked an arm around her shoulders. Alicia Clifton wasn’t so different from the other victims after all. At least a deranged killer might see it that way.
“How far along was she?” Dana asked.
“About seven weeks.” Dr. Simpson ran a hand over his haggard face. “I’m sorry I didn’t put this information in the autopsy report. I was just trying to spare some friends further agony.”
A muscle twitched in Rafe’s jaw. He could understand trying to protect friends but not at the expense of a serial murder investigation. “Do we know who the father was? Alicia was buried weeks ago. I suppose there’s no chance of collecting DNA now. What if the killer was the baby’s father?”
“No.” Dr. Simpson held up his hand. “The father was definitely Patrick Rainwater, Alicia’s boyfriend. Alicia wouldn’t sleep around.”
“Had she told Patrick about the pregnancy?” Dana’s voice sounded strained, the casual laughter at dinner completely wiped away.
Dr. Simpson toyed with the third glass of whiskey and then pushed it away. “We don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Rafe slammed his fist on the counter. “You didn’t bother to ask Alicia’s boyfriend, the probable father of her baby if he knew about the pregnancy? God, what a mess. This is what lies get you. We’ve lost precious time here, Simpson.”
“I’m telling you now. Go question the boy. I have to break the news to the Cliftons that their secret is out.” He wiped his hand across his mouth and stumbled toward the front door.
“And with that secret revealed, we have a better chance of catching Alicia’s killer.” Rafe followed Dr. Simpson and slammed the door after him.
“Damn.”
The glasses clinked as Dana rinsed them out and placed them in the sink. She turned to face Rafe, her hands behind her clutching the counter, her complexion pale. “We have to report Dr. Simpson to the Medical Examiners Board.”
“I suppose so.” Dropping to the sofa he clutched his hair. He hated this part of being the local sheriff for a small town. He didn’t want to upset any residents of Silverhill, but he and Dana would have to share this new information with Steve and Emmett. And Steve was no local.
The sofa cushion sank as Dana settled beside him. “You don’t think Alicia’s boyfriend had anything to do with her murder, do you?”
“I don’t think so, but Alicia’s murder bothered me all along. Think about it. All the other girls were into partying. I’m not judging them, but they had reputations for sleeping around. But not Alicia. This pregnancy may tell another story about her. Maybe she cheated on Patrick. Maybe the killer’s connection to all these young women is that he slept with them.”
Dana leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees. “Looks like we need to talk to Patrick again tomorrow.”
“I agree. Do you want to come with me?”
“Sure, but I’d better get going. It’s been a long day. Can you drop me off at my car?”
She pushed up from the sofa and he grabbed her hand. He didn’t want her to leave. He’d been trying to figure out how to get her back to his place when Dr. Simpson’s call solved the problem for him. Just his luck the call had also spoiled the mood.
“It’s late. I don’t want you driving back to the reservation from town. Remember what happened last time?”
“Now that I know the wolf is my friend, I’ll be fine.” She grinned but left her hand in his.
“You shouldn’t be driving.” He ran the pad of his thumb beneath her eye. “You look exhausted.”
She slapped his hand and he jumped back. “I thought you were supposed to be smooth with the ladies, McClintock. Here you are trying to seduce me by telling me I look like a washed-out hag.”
He exhaled a long breath, releasing a knot in his chest. “Believe me, sweetheart, if you’re a hag I don’t know the meaning of the word. And how do you know I’m attempting a seduction?”
“You have me in your lair, and you want to keep me here.”
“You don’t believe I’m concerned about your safety?” He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close, snugly fitting her to his body.
“Oh, I know you are.” Her smooth hand caressed his cheek. “But you have ulterior motive written all over your—” she glanced down at his crotch pressed against her hip “—face.”
He chuckled. “So concern for your safety isn’t seductive?” He turned his head and kissed her palm, satisfied by the little ripple that flowed through her body.
“No.”
“So what is…seductive, I mean?”
“Hmm.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I like to have my hair stroked.”
“Like this?” He weaved his fingers through her silky strands, skimming through the length of her dark hair.
Sighing, she closed her eyes. “Yesss.”
“What else?”
“I like a nice back massage.”
“Like this?” His hands inched down until he kneaded his fingers into the tight muscles between her shoulder blades.
A small moan escaped her lips while her head dropped to the side. His fingers trailed along her spine and he rubbed the small of her back. Tucking his fingers into her back pockets, he pulled her up against his body.
“What next?”
Tracing the outline of her mouth with his fingertip, he brushed his lips against hers. A flame ignited in his belly, but he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. Dana wanted a seduction, not a conquest.
“Don’t stop.” She rasped her knuckles across the stubble on his chin. “You were doing just fine.”
Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled his head back down to hers and captured his lips in a kiss so sweet and so hot, he tasted burnt sugar. His tongue toyed with hers and then he deepened the kiss.
It was like high school déjà vu—the impatience, the sensory overload…the nerves. Damn. He hated to admit it, but the prospect of making love to Dana had ratcheted up his anxiety level. She’d expect so much more out of him now, wouldn’t she?
He pulled out of the kiss and placed two fingers over her protesting mouth. “I have a room now and a bed. No more caves.”
She puckered her lips and sucked his fingers into her mouth, and then playfully bit them. “Too bad. I kinda liked the cave.”
To hell with seduction. He scooped her up in his arms and charged toward the bedroom. Tonight he’d make her forget. Forget the cave. Forget why she ran. Forget the murders. Forget the visions.
He dropped her on the bed, thankful he’d remembered to make it this morning, and pulled at the buttons on his shirt.
“Whoa, cowboy.” She rose to her knees, hooked her fingers in his waistband and pulled him forward. “Let me do the honors.”
He felt like jumping out of his skin. Every time she undid a button on his khaki shirt, her nails trailed along the T-shirt beneath. When the shirt gaped open on his body, she peeled it from his shoulders, letting it drop on the floor. Then she tugged at his T-shirt, still tucked into his jeans, and skimmed her hands along his torso as she pulled it up.
He raised his arms so she could take it off, but she stopped, leaving the T-shirt hooked around his shoulders and covering his head. Her lips touched his midsection, feeling like a hot brand. She laid a path of kisses up to his chest, and then worked downward until she reached the belt on his jeans. Her tongue flicked along his belly above his waistband and he ripped the T-shirt from his head and grabbed her shoulders to steady himself.
The Sheriff of Silverhill Page 11